Iris
by Esbatty
Summary: Stroud's latest recruit, Bethany Hawke, has put Senior Warden Alistair Theirin in bit of an awkward position.
1. Dizzy

_This is a side project that has nothing to to do with my other Dragon Age serials. While I never played an "Alistair as a Grey Warden" Origins ending, I have made Bethany a Warden multiple times so far, seeing it as a better life for her. Alistair has always been a good friend to almost all of my Wardens so this is my way of giving him a bit of a happy ending. Updates to this will be much more sporadic than those for my stories, but I do plan on completing this one._

_As for the title of this series it comes from the Goo Goo Dolls song which I find appropriate for an Alistair Romance theme._

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><p>Alistair couldn't keep his eyes off their latest recruit. He made sure to scowl as best as he could so as to not arouse - well, not appear to be becoming aroused in anyway by her presence. Being one of the senior Wardens in their party, as they freely marched through the Free Marches, he elected to hang to the back of the group and silently weigh the pros and cons of attempting small talk with the young Apostate, err, Mage.<p>

"What're you giggling about", she asked over her shoulder.

Alistair froze in mid-step and uttered the longest syllable in his life, "Uuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh".

"Fine, fine don't tell me", she continued marching on leaving him behind.

Apparently his inner dialogue was alot less silent then he thought. Alistair tripped over his own feet before catching his balance and toddling up beside her. His act of embarrassment he'd chalk up to a form of ice breaking.

"So you're - from Ferelden?" he asked her cautiously, almost half expecting to catch her stave across his face in response.

She said nothing.

"I happen to be from Ferelden myself. Redcliffe, specifically", he had continued as if his previous question was more a statement.

The girl cleared her throat and simply stared forward, avoiding his gaze.

"I knew a Mage, kind of like you, although right now she's charged with running all of Amaranthine and the entirety of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden", he learned from his time trying to gather armies to fight The Fifth Blight that a bit of ego stroking could a long way to fostering some goodwill.

"You knew my cousin?" she finally acknowledged Alistair and actually turned to face him, her eyes carried a hard look of skepticism.

"Cousin? You're - Hawke."

"No, thats my brother. I'm Bethany, thank you very much, and my mother's name is Leandra, Leandra Amell."

"Interesting", Alistair mulled over the information briefly in his head. This revelation was completely unexpected. The girl Bethany was related to his best friend, his Wardening partner, his saviour from the sentence of Kingship. Although, it was this same friend that got him in bed with - it was better for him not to think upon it.

After a while he noticed she continued to stare at him as they walked side by side.

"And?"

"Oh, sorry, uhh, she's a feisty one. All fireballs and freezing spells. The Darkspawn would sometimes come charging at us, this great wall of snarls and foul odors then ZAP they'd be frozen in their tracks then FWOOSH they'd be charbroiled. A scarily, fantastic woman", he chuckled.

Bethany laughed along with him, "So how did you two-?"

"Duncan", he answered right away. It hurt a bit, his mentor's name had conjured up old wounds, memories that haunted him as much as the Taint-driven nightmares.

"Duncan who?" she drew out the last syllable and it left her lips puckered, almost invitingly so. He shook his head briefly to break his obvious stare.

"I'm sorry, I'm terrible about these things. Duncan is - was the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, the title your cousin currently holds, and he picked me up from The Chantry about six months before he visited the Circle of Magi and conscripted her."

Bethany raised an eyebrow, "The Chantry? You were a brother?"

"Not exactly, uhh, I was in training for service as a... Templar."

Any hint of a smile dropped from her face as she turned away while the ever familiar awkwardness of silence then made itself at home.

He lost her, she was an Apostate living in fear in Kirkwall and here he had to open his gob and tell her he was training alongside her lifelong pursuers. Alistair sighed to himself and let himself fall behind again, resigned to having his foot planted firmly in his mouth as per usual.


	2. Ave Maria

Alistair hated the Grey Warden Compound in Nevarra. The room he was assigned for their brief stay was in fact a miniature tomb for a former Nevarran of note whose family had fallen out of favor many centuries ago, and thus the entire Family Mausoleum was foisted upon his Order sometime well after the conclusion of the Third Blight. It was quite literally a palace for the dead, and yet despite all the years its sat in Grey Warden's possession little had been changed about it as he found himself sitting on a thick blanket atop a hopefully, empty stone coffin.

A knock on his room's door startled him from his wakeful rest.

"Yes?", he croaked at the slowly opening door.

"Are you awake?" a quiet voice questioned.

"No", he grinned him to himself.

"Fine, I'll go", he instantly recognized the voice.

"Bethany", he started as he struggled to grope down for anything to cover his half-nakedness. "Stay, just let me get on something decent."

"Alright", she muttered as her shadow danced nervously in the column of light that spilled in from the doorway.

Alistair shrugged on the freshly aired out padded shirt that served as the first buffer between his flesh and the armor that he normally wore.

"I'm decent now, messre. Or it serah? I've never been sure about regional greetings."

"Serah is fine, not that I ever considered myself a Free Marcher."

"So what brings you to, well, here - me?"

The young Mage hesitated for a moment, the firelight from the hallway cast her in silhouette and he was unable to read her expression. Their last meeting had not gone particularly well and thus he was trying to keep his foot as far from his mouth as possible.

"The Joining today, it-"

"Horrible, I know", Alistair interrupted. "That was a first for me. Four recruits, all dead. Stroud was furious, I hadn't heard so many Orlesian curses since my childhood."

He paused in his rambling, the shadow before him was stone silent.

"I'm sorry, Bethany. I should let you - say your peace. Go on."

Bethany took a deep breath then exhaled long and slow, "What I meant to say is after all the tragedy tonight, it reminded me that once we take the Joining it wipes our pasts away. I'm no more an Apostate than you are a Templar. We're Wardens of the Order of the Grey and... nothing more, yet nothing less."

Alistair remained quiet, not quite believing he was being apologized to.

"Not many of the others have attempted to, hmph, welcome me. Stroud seemed surprised I staved off the corruption long enough to even undertake my Joining let alone survive it."

"Yeah, he did seem, well, whatever passes for pleased in his vast emotional gamut", Alistair crooked his finger under his nose like a mustache and stared unimpressed at his companion.

Bethany stifled a giggle, "Yes, thats nearly the exact face I woke to."

She looked around Alistair's room before asking, "Can we light a candle or lamp? I don't want to leave the door open and wake anyone."

"I think there is wall lamp - on the wall. Yeah. I'll light that."

As he hoped off his makeshift bed, Bethany slowly began to shut the door.

"Whoa, what're you - what will the others think?"

Bethany's darkened shape seemed to turn to face, Alistair, "I'm closing the door. I want to talk like I'm NOT in the middle of a graveyard, and I could give... a flying rat-dropping what the others think."

Alistair thought it over a moment before he carefully rubbed the dweomer of the rune that sat in a small stone shelf on the wall. It quickly formed a bright flame that lit the room.

"Besides", Bethany continued as she hugged herself and rubbed her arms, "its not like I don't know they consider me a fool and a charity case."

"No, they don't", Alistair tried to assure her.

"You don't have to lie to me. I may walk around like deeply engrossed in the goings on of my navel, but I can still listen. Besides I was trying to play the part of intrepid explorer hunting lost Dwarven treasures in the Deep Roads, so its not like I was doing anything particularly unfoolish."

Alistair padded his way back to his resting place and unceremoniously yanked the bedding off and placed it on the floor.

"Care to sit? There doesn't seem to be any kind of seating in this place, then again much like the Dead, apparently Wardens don't need to laze about on luxuries like stools or chairs."

A faint smile came to the girl's face as she settled down on the blanketing across from the room's living occupant.

"So you were training to be a Templar", she started their previous conversation anew.

"Ah yes, but I was the Good kind of Templar."

"Really now", this seemed to pique her interest.

"Oh yes, the kind that never wanted to be a Templar in the first place."

"This - is a revelation. Go on", her smile growing.

"I was given to the Chantry by my - guardian, the Arl of Redcliffe, so I could basically be out of his wife's tightly bunned hair, and also get a proper education. So beyond all the stories that probably circle amongst the Mages and Apostates, no they don't make stupid Templars. Many are just simply born that way."

Bethany collapsed on her side laughing, a small trickle of tears reflected in the firelight. Alistair was relieved, any previous tensions left between them seemed to have disappated, for once it appeared he might not make quite the ass of himself. She slowly returned to a more casual sitting position, this time she stared at him with an eagerness that yearned for more levity.

"Luckily, Duncan arrived shortly before I was to take my vows and officially join the Chantry - FOR-EV-ER!" he raised his hands and began to make spooky noises.

"Is it true they keep you - the Templars on lyrium to control them?"

"Sadly, yes. Its not pretty when they go mad from the years of quaffing flask after flask. I, myself, didn't get exposed to it but had I taken my vows - yes, I essentially woulda been their slave."

"So I guess its about as bad as being in the Circle of Magi, then? Restricted to a life of... drudgery."

Alistair carefully chose his next words, "I'm not entirely sure. From what I've seen and heard the conditions the Templars and Mages are treated by the Chantry vary from place to place. Kirkwall's sounded like quite the prison in that it made Ferelden's look like a summer retreat."

"Seriously?"

"I dunno how true that is, last time I was at Lake Calenhad I was trapped by a Demon named Torpor that had me convinced I was happily living a life surrounded by family", with that Alistair's own grin faded.

"I'm sorry, Alistair. I - what did happen to your family. You mention a guardian but no, parents or aunt or non-brothel patron of an uncle?"

Alistair shook his head in response, "I know little to nothing of my Mother. I only heard about my father from others. As for my brother, half brother, he fell along with so many others at Ostagar."

"My - my brothers fought in the King's Army there. They survived, somehow, and when they came to get Mother and I from Lothering, Carver... he", Bethany stopped and exchanged stares with Alistair. For a long moment there only sound in the tomb was their breathing.

"You two were close?" Alistair broke their eye contact along with the silence.

"Carver was my twin. Headstrong and always trying to claw his way out from the shadows of others. There was just - so much life in him. If he wasn't starting a fight he was pulling some kind of prank or up to something foolish but daring", Bethany took a moment to wipe fresh tears from her face.

Alistair lightly laughed to himself, "Yes, brothers are like that. Cai- my brother wanted his life to be one great, big, epic adventure. It was like a dream come true for him to fight the evil Darkspawn hordes alongside the storied Grey Wardens. His confidence and high spirits were just so - contagious."

"Did you - did you love your brother?"

Her question gave him pause. Alistair had never really consider it but since they were sharing and it was quite the rarity for anyone to give him and his life any consideration, he'd have to dig deep and answer carefully but truthfully.

"In - my own way, yes. There was no affection between us, again I lived a whole 'nother life apart from him, but when your cousin and I returned to Ostagar to retrieve some of his documents and personal possessions... it hurt me deeply when I, Maker, when we found his remains treated as they were. I don't even remember the words I spoke at his pyre."

Bethany sniffed back any remaining tears and began to shift from sitting position, "Do you mind if I... stay here, tonight?"

Alistair watched her curl up on the bedding and blankets in front of him without caring for his answer. In moments her breathing turned shallow and every so often a quiet whistle signalled her final descent into slumber.

"Goodnight, Bethany", he spoke before curling up beside her, both of them back to back. 


	3. Tales From The Forest Of Gnomes

Marching, they were always marching.

The light, yet constant rain had made her simple footwear a hazard where any wrong step could lead to a twisted ankle at worst or a mud covered rear-end at best. They had made their way back from Nevarra City at such a fast clip that Bethany had struggled to keep up with the other three Grey Wardens. Her Joining had been months ago but whatever edge the Taint had bestowed upon her was nothing compared to the combined factors of experience and hardships that had sculpted her comrades. No matter the terrain or obstacle they always seemed so deteremined to achieve their collective goal no matter how mundane or monumental the task.

When they finally reached their particular Mausoleum, from the vast necropolis that sat just outside the Nevarran capitol, their small party was greeted by a number of ancillary members of their Order. Most of them were selected from the local population. None had undertaken the Joining themselves but sought out to serve the Grey Wardens in some capacity, many out of reverence for the history or tales, and others because their husband or wife drank of the Chalice.

A beardless dwarf gingerly took the small bag Stroud had entrusted in her care. The brand beneath his eye reminded Bethany of one of Varric's recountings of how the the social order worked beneath the feet of most Fereldens. The young dwarf had been born casteless, somehow braved his way to the surface, and came into service of the Grey Wardens. She offered him a weak smile to which he nodded then sped back to the shelter of the hauntingly ornate structure and out of the moist, feather touch of the sky.

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><p>"Oh, I can't put this any other way but, Bethany, I love you very much. I felt so empty inside when you left with Stroud but now you return and this feeling I thats been building up in the pit of my stomach is just, just undescribable."<p>

Soaked from head to toe whilst her feet were caked in mud and errant bits of rocks and straw, Bethany simply narrowed her eyes at the impassioned ex-Templar.

"Do you know how hard it was to hide this", the young Mage gestured at the small bulge of her stomach, "from Stroud? I mean, I spent one night in your damn room and suddenly you think I'll bend over backwards for you at the drop of a helmet."

The Last Theirin gave her the most solemn, watery eyes he could muster. Alistair's bottom lip trembled as he held out his hands towards her belly. With a harsh sigh Bethany lifted her mottled robes and shoved the smelly, little bundle of joy into the man's arms.

"Oh, you've made the me happiest man in all of Thedas. It smells like... home", he took a long sniff while he dexterously untied the bit of twine that held the wrapper shut.

"No, it smells like feet", Bethany quietly complained to herself. "My robes now reek of cheese and feet. Particualry big feet, probably much like Qunari feet."

"What was that?" Alistair asked between noisome nibbles.

"Nothing, just that you owe me for the cheese wedges and the bar of soap I obviously had to pick up along the way. Now put that away, we were picking up provisions, personal correspondence, and of course the stipends from Weisshauptt. If Stroud finds out I was shopping for personal gain, who knows what he'll do."

"Bah, probably make you peel tubers or mage up some cooking fires", he waggled the fingers of his gauntlets noisly at the floor between them.

"Mage up?"

"Conjure? Summon forth? Twitch your nose? I've even heard some Antivan Mages do elaborate dances to-"

"Oh hush, and eat your smelly cheese somewhere private. Right now I need a good bath and, ugh, a change of clothes."

Bethany turned and began a weary walk to the back rooms of the converted Mausoleum.

"Thats not going to happen anytime soon. Our mustachioed leader says we're heading off to the Anderfels to meet with a Senior Orlesian Warden to get briefed on a particularly chatty Darkspawn Emissary called The Architect."

"What?" she spun around on her heels, an exasperated look was plastered across her face.

"Specifically we're heading out once the Crypt is restocked, so unless the four of you were carrying some deceptively heavy parcels...", Alistair casually stated while he shoved the mostly untouched cheeses into a small oil stained pouch tied to his belt.

"Eww, don't call it that."

"Oh, sorry, we are departing from the Grey Warden Compound once the provisions have been stored and accounted for. Better?" the slightly elder Warden offered.

"Infinitely."

"You mages and your fancy words. Two can play at this game... persnickety."

"I'm not even - no. I can't bathe so that means you can't try to game with me."

"Aww."

"I'll suffer no whining, either."

"Well that leaves me with - I'm just gonna bang the hilt of my sword on my shield in displeasure then."

Bethany waved off the ridiculous man then quickly made her way back to her creepy, creepy room to gather her things.


	4. Burn

Alistair had never felt so unwelcome in a library since he and Amell had stormed the Circle of Magi at Lake Calenhad some three or four years ago. Instead of abominations and charred corpses hurling arrows and errant spells, he had a single severe looking Elven Mage staring ironbark blades into the back of his head. Or at least he was sure of it since the Orlesian Warden had entered the massive, bordering on ancient, library of Weisshaupt Fortress only minutes after Alistair and Bethany themselves settled in with a stack of scrolls and books.

"Is she still there?" his whispered question directed at his equally perturbed companion.

"If by 'there' you mean, looking you over like a blight wolf eyes a future venision dinner, then yes. She's very much still there." Bethany spoke, now decked out in the blue and silver padded armor bearing the mark of dual griffons.

"What is her deal, Alistair? Did you - did you dog ear an old tome or wipe your nose on a scroll? Burp excessively loud? This place echoes, ya know."

"No! None of those things", Alistair scrunched his features in disgust. "And do we really want to bring up the burping? I was raised in the Chantry - where burping was a sin. As for you..."

Bethany gaped at him in mock horror, "I do NOT burp."

"Shhh, shhh, shhh, woman - its a library not some kitchen in Kirkwall where loud, rude outbursts pass for compliments."

The Mage's eyes landed on a drying quill, which she quickly hurled at her companion's head. The writing implement slid down his face until the blackened tip hung on Alistair's lip, which caused the Senior Warden to start half spitting, half blowing in reflex trying to knock it off. Any still moist ink that had remained on the tip now spattered lightly across Bethany's face and new armor.

"I'm going", she wiped at a bit of ink beneath her eyes, smearing it like blackened tears "- to kill you."

Alistair stuck his tongue out, causing the quill to land quietly on the table before him, "Its your fault, hurling things about like a dig-happy Mabari."

"Oh, so I'm a hound now? Forget it, death is too good for you."

"Frog time, I take it?"

"What?"

"Forget it, I said nothing. Death is o-kay", the man spoke, his lips had formed the 'O' in okay in an overly animated manner which only served to highlight the dark ink that now stained his bottom lip.

It was difficult for Bethany to surpress her bout of laughter. The grand library echoed her tittering for its brief tenure, which was quickly silenced now that the Elven Mage was hovering over Alistair's shoulder.

"I should like to speak with the Blonde one", Fiona spoke carefully in the King's Tongue. Bethany absently at her other cheek, and made a matching set of onyx streaks beneath her other eye as she stood up from the table and backed away.

Alistair's head slightly shook 'No' to his retreating friend, who dared not to look away from the woman who stood behind him. His stomach churned noisily as a heavy, unseen weight decided to take up residence within his chest.

* * *

><p>Bethany felt equal parts relieved and guilty for having left Alistair alone with that Elven Woman. It had been said she'd written a number of the volumes within the great repository in regards to Theories on the Darkspawn and their behaviour. She paced her way to her room, pondering her friend's fate, only for her thoughts to drift back to her ink stained countenance.<p>

A smile crossed her face. She enjoyed his company, nettling one another for hours during their travels. It reminded her of palling around with her brothers over the years, and it comforted her knowing she wasn't going to be as alone as she thought she'd be amongst the Grey Wardens.

"Of all the people - a Templar", she laughed to herself while approaching the door to her assigned room.

The door refused to open, with a reluctant sigh she began fishing amongst her new armor's hidden pockets for the key. Being a fortress in the blighted lands of the Anderfels, Weisshauptt's rooms were each set up for any kind of prolonged siege and eventual invasion by the Darkspawn hordes or even more humane invaders. Each room had its own unique key for occupants to lock themselves in should the worse happen, in addition to this runes were set into the walls much like in the Nevarran Warden compound but not only for fire for light but also small basins set in the floor that would fill with fresh water when the dweomer was disturbed. This Grey Warden reliance on runes had put it in the young mage's head to eventually get someone to teach her how to etch and enchant them.

Upon finding the key she grinned in triumph then let herself. Bethany's grin was changed to a dour expression as she found a short man rooting through her belonging.

"Ahem", she announced herself.

"The corruption does something to surviving plants that causes people to suffer allergies. Might want to dunk your head in a bucket of water and clear out your nose", her intruded offered advice without looking back, still sorting through a small bundle that made Bethany cringe upon sighting its contents was her small clothes.

"Raleigh, get your paws off my unmentionables... or I'll freeze your head in a bucket of water."

The rusty-haired Elf quickly turned and faced the young Mage, each of his eyes had a loincloth covering them, "If I can't see you I'm not in trouble."

Bethany bit her lower lip, "Raleigh, those - those are my used small clothes."

The Elf gagged and daintily removed the offending clothing bits from his face "Mind if I wash my face in the basin?"

"Get out."

"Right, right."

She gestured toward the open door. He hung his head and made his way out in a slow melancholic manner.

"Wait", she called to him.

He looked up slowly, a lecherous grin marring his youthful, exotic features, "yessss?"

"Why were you in here? You know I have nothing of value, you thief, so... why?"

"There is a letter from your Uncle, uhh, Gamble? Gremlin? Something. I dunno, it smelled of rum and cheap perfume."

Bethany grimaced, "Uncle Gamlen wrote me? Odd, usually its Mother."

The Nevarran criminal pickthank, Stroud recruited on their way out of the Free Marches, shrugged then vacated the girl's presence as she mulled over the news.


	5. The Unforgiven

A phantom dragon's maw crushed Theirin's chest as he stumbled through the now fire lit halls of the Grey Warden headquarters. Each breath he took, as he made his way back to his assigned room, came out in a quiet shudder. He willed away the sting of tears, allowing the hot flesh about his eyes to burn without the warm rivulets of relief. He had listened to the elder Grey Warden's words with a stone face, it was essentially an addendum to what she shared with Stroud and the rest of their mix of Fereldan and Free Marcher Wardens regarding her clandestine mission that involved Alistair's Father, King Maric, and a venture into the Deep Roads. That information in itself was enough to disturb Alistair, the first time he heard it, but it was far more personal once the Elven woman, Fiona, revealed her brief relationship to his Father.

The records she produced, from the same stack of tomes that Bethany and himself had drawn from the library there, told of a fair-haired elven-blooded child born in Orlais. Two tiny inked foot prints shared space on a parchment bearing the date, the child's name, and Fiona's own signature written in a shaky, looping script. This, and only this, was the reason she even dared to speak to him outside of the chambers of the meeting they had held the day previous. What bothered him the most out of the whole of the possible revelations the Mage shared was that she included Duncan into the subterfuge of his upbringing. That the Mentor he'd grown so close to in such a short amount of time could've been party to any of what she spoke of beyond the official events in the Deep Roads regarding the free-thinking Darkspawn Emissary.

Alistair looked out one of the few windows that lined the corridor that containted his party's sleeping quarters and spied the gray skies. He had no clue as to how long he had sat in the library alone with the woman, it had certainly felt much longer than his time locked up within a cell inside Fort Drakon. He shut his eyes and squeezed his eyelids tightly, the sensation of heat from the blood that collected beneath his features reminded him of that time in Orzammar where his instincts nearly made him chase a dropped silver piece into the glowing pools of magma. Theirin didn't want to feel like this.

Before he could even open his eyes again he had already walked past his own door, coming to a stop before his casual tormenter's room. He didn't know if he'd share anything he was told but Alistair knew the young Mage could lift his spirits or at least make him feel like someone worth a damn.

"Bethany", croaked between raps on the wooden door.

No response.

He knocked again, a little harder this time, putting more of his flesh and less of his armor into the meager blows.

Again, no response from inside.

Pretense be damned, he tried to door handle and the door freely opened beneath his grasp. Any bravado borne of his hurt sunk into the shallows of mind as he peered into the darkened room.

"Housekeeping?" he called out in nervous falsetto.

"Go away", a weak voice intoned.

"I would but this room is filthy with - smallclothes? I'll go ahead and avert my eyes."

"Alistair?", Bethany's question issued from the deep shadows of her room. The light that poured in from the hall did little to reveal much other than the clothing and belongings that were strewn about.

"Yeah?"

"Close the door."

"Alright", he said followed by shutting himself out of her room.

With the Maker turning a blind eye to everyday events across the face of Thedas it seemed like another force was at work savaging the dead horse that was Alistair's life. The Archdemon slain, and the Blight sufficiently quelled, for a brief moment in his ambling back to his own room the last Theirin considered taking his calling a couple decades early since the highlight of his existence was the aforementioned events.

By the time he found the roomkey on his person, Bethany's door creaked open and a pale, work-rough hand beckoned him inside. Wearily he made his back to her door and stepped inside. The room was now lit, albeit dimly. Alistair shut the door behind himself, this time, and found Bethany sitting next to a discarded envelope on her bed. The ink-stains that ran down her cheeks in a melancholy fashion were now accompanied by actual tears. Suddenly Alistair felt a bit - contagious.

"So", he began. "Are you alright? Well you're obviously not alright nor okay. Uhh, I'm gonna assume it has something to do with that envelope there and since fate or destiny or, heh, the Elven Creators seem to be intent on kicking me, and now my friend, while I'm down. So I want to say I'm sorry. Its probably not any of my fault - whatever it is that is making you upset but I'm sorry and I'm here for you and I'll shut up now. Sorry. Yeah... okay. Now."

Alistair remained standing there, shifting his weight from foot to foot, trying his best not to keep babbling forth every notion that crossed his mind. Bethany leaned over a bit and in a wooden motion knocked the envelope to the floor, then patted the space next to her. The ex-Templar hesitated a moment his thoughts crystalizing as he realized that he is alone in a woman's bedroom, her unmentionables splayed about willy-nilly and she was asking him without words to come to join her on a bed. He fought back any thoughts of that fateful night's ritual and just took his friend's invitation for what is was.

Alistair sat down, the small bed held both their weights comfortably. Together they sat in the faint light of the wall rune that cast a wisp of illumination instead of flame like the runes set in the walls of the creepy Nevarran Warden Compound.

"My Mother is dead", the young woman stated like someone would say the sky is blue or water is wet.

Her companion nodded.

"Apparently my brother had been looking into a string of missing women and by the time Hawke stopped the..."

Bethany trailed off for a moment to clear her throat and wipe away her tears.

"The monster, he had already claimed our - my Mother as his last victim. I know that we're Grey Wardens and we're not supposed to let our past lives still effect us so I'm not going to ask Stroud to let me go see her grave. She's dead. She's suffering no more. Just like Carver, like Father. Nothing can hurt them anymore."

The warm sensation returned to Alistair's eyes and again he refused to shed any tears. As much as they'd be for Bethany's loss they'd still be - tainted by what he was told eariler, and he'd not let himself accept what he was told to be true. He simply couldn't.

"Alistair?"

Not wanting to betray his feelings he merely grunted in response.

"Will you - will you stay with me, tonight?", Bethany turned her head and looked into his eyes awaiting his response.

"Stay...?"

"With me. Here", she emphasized the word 'with'.

The older man locked eyes with her, his mouth slightly open as he seemed unable to find his tongue, and she continued.

"I think I need to do something other than wallow. Any time I'm alone I just focus on how miserable I am and how miserable I made my family over the years with my magic. How we always had to run and hide, never being normal. I don't want to think anymore - I don't want to feel right now. I want you, here."

The woman beside him leaned forward into his precious, shrinking personal space. He watched as her bottom lip trembled, her face filling his field of view.

"Stay", was the last thing she whispered.


	6. Mind's Eye

His mind wanted to blank and allow the rest of him to succumb when he felt her lips tentatively graze his own.

Alistair only dreamed of situations like this, whereas other men's fantasies would wander into more lurid matters, he was much simpler. The purse-minded girls that dotted the darkened corners of Denerim could fulfill any man's more primal needs, but he always imagined that even a kiss from them would lack the depth and honesty of what he sought. Tonight was no different. Bethany's lips traced his jawline and down to the exposed portion of his neck unguarded by bodily-warm metal. Empty kisses from a woman he cared for and a friend he treasured.

Before things went any further he took her face in his hands and stared into her clouded eyes, "I'm sorry, I can't - I can't do this. Not like this. I know you hurt and you might not even be hearing me anymore but its better for me to go."

A dispassionate stare was her only response.

The heat of her flesh from the quiet weeping from before he arrived was wicked away by the clamminess of his hands. He didn't want to let her go and for a stretch of time he held her head aloft, like a scholar who unearthed the most sacrosanct of finds and enraptured in the awe and wonder of its existence.

"Hate me... if you must", he couldn't believe he was saying this, "but I should - I'll be somewhere - else. For awhile. Should you need me... later. Yeah."

Despite the weight of Alistair's armor his departure from her quarters was the fastest he had ever moved outside of battle.

* * *

><p>"Hate me if you must? Thats - thats just sad", the Elf remarked between swigs from the jug of some rather strong, unpronounceably named alcohol.<p>

"Maker, I know, I know", after the first drink, and recovering from the Joining-reminiscent burning of his throat, Alistair was already feeling the bordering-on-toxin effects of Raleigh's new found stash.

In his hasty retreat, Alistair unconsciously made his way to one of the more remote stables that dotted the barren, battle-scarred grounds of the Grey Warden Fortress. The smells of hay, rusting metal, cracked leather, and stale horse apples was comforting. Childhood reminders of a simpler time when his biggest problem was - an Orlesian woman. He wondered what was with that country and its women?

"Why are you even sharing this with me? I don't know you and you don't know me." The Elven Rogue broke Alistair's train of thought.

It was in the stable Alistair discovered the slight man digging through a pile of horse fodder and dirty hay that was curiously piled in a corner of the relatively clean outbuilding. Raleigh, one prone to scavenging and filching for a living, was hard pressed not to paw through every unwatched nook and cranny of everywhere he was led. Tonight's findings was a single jug of noxious home-brew, that he begrudgingly shared with his immediate superior.

"Well we're Grey Wardens, we have that much in common. At the very least. Besides I have two or three friends in the whole of Thedas and they're all scattered to the four winds."

Or dead, he lamented to himself.

"Hmm, why don't you - you talk to Stroud about this, if you're so embarassed? Get yourself reassigned like to Antiva or Orlais. Ah, Val Royeux where the Women are painted, and so are the Men... Oo-la-la!"

"Quiet you. Orlais isn't - isn't a good topic for me."

"Yeah, wasn't the Hero of Ferelden all caught up with that Orlesian Chantry Sister, right?"

"Shut it, Raleigh."

"Touchy subject, good to know. So I assume you felt alot closer to whats-her-face... Amell, than she for you, eh?"

"Thats Warden-Commander Amell to you, recruit."

"Pssh, don't pull that with me, we're talking here. Man to Man, err... Man to Elf. So, anyway, be honest... did she - was she aware of how you felt?"

"..."

"So its like that all business now, Senior Warden?"

Alistair refused to speak any further on the subject. He simply laid back in the clean hay and put one of his gauntlets over his eyes. The booze in the Elf seemed to have loosened his tongue and so he continued on.

"Look, I don't know Bethany any better than the next guy in this - outfit. What I do know is - they talk alot of shit about her and what brought her into the fold, but I think she's got a set of bollocks on her to go out into the Deep Roads like that. So that says she's tough, maybe not the brightest rune on the wall but she knows how to dig down into herself and get things done."

Raleigh nudged at Alistair's side with his boot, but still received no response.

"I don't know what she told you that upset her so but - give her some time. I don't think she'll hold it against you for... not holding it against her, if you know what I mean."

At that Alistair shot to his feet, his face red from either anger or the drink or both.

"Don't you talk 'bout her that way. She's - she's something else."

The Elf backed away from the drunken fellow, "Alright, just - sleep it off, bucko. We'll see about talking later when you're - less prone to scaring the shit out of me."


	7. If I Survive

After waking up in the company of an overly flatulent horse and a headache the size of a portly Genlock, Alistair noticed both Bethany and Raleigh actively avoided his company for the rest of that day. Alistair felt useless wandering about the grounds of Weisshaupt. Marching had becoming so much an integral part of his life that as he didn't bother readying himself for the day and simply wandered the countryside. Where Ferelden was very brown and an odd combination of moist and musty, or maybe even moisty if such a term existed, it appeared the Anderfels was more blackened and parched.

The people of the land labored humorously with such a conviction, as if simply carving a day to day life out of the Taint-kissed land about them was a blow struck to the two-legged bogeymen that toiled beneath the surface. Even the children elicited nary a giggle as they huddled together in the closely guarded markets of the villages Alistair ventured through. Despite the lack of open shows of mirth, the Anders sure knew how to make a fine cheese, but even a few solaced moments lost in indulging just one of the amplified and much storied Grey Warden appetites could not shake the man of his loneliness.

Here at Weisshaupt Fortress his reputation for being the other half of the Blight ending Fereldan Wardens made many of their Order stationed here in the Anderfels either resent him for the notoriety of ending the threat too early for their own shot at heroism or elevated his battle prowess to the point of not wanting to catch the ire of the barbaric Dog Lord who got up-close and personal with the Archdemon... and lived.

After the felling of the Archdemon, Alistair's taint-driven nightmares had subsided a bit, instead they were replaced by distorted recollections of the debrief-turned-interrogation when neither he or Amell had perished when his friend drove a Darkspawn blade deep into the monster's flesh rending it of its terrifyingly short life. Despite his part in the Witch's ritual, it was his friend who caught the brunt of the repercussions for their mutual decision to accept Morrigan's terms. The grilling he had received was terrible in that he had to relive that - night with Morrigan over and again as he had to try and recall as many details as to what exactly she did to him. Once it was decided that the Order and their various Agents across Thedas would remain vigilant for the Apostate and her child, the two Wardens were released and were given new assignments.

In the absence of the rest of the Wardens assigned to the Free Marches, some of those that didn't ignore or avoid him took the opportunity to make none too subtle advances on his person. It was one thing to be solicited by elven ladies of the night, it was a whole 'nother chamberpot of trouble being propositioned by Warriors and Shield-Maidens that could quite literally snap him in twain. Apparently the rumors of him being a savage-bedding saviour of Thedas was made all the more interesting to the libidinous Wardens as he rebuffed them time and again.

Locking himself in his quarters seemed to be the best option he could come up with until it was time to return to the field. At least here he could sleep and find solace in the familiarity of his other long time companion, his nightmares.

* * *

><p>"Darkspawn tactics have changed little, even in the brevity of the Fifth Blight, horses were one of the first resources their monstrous raiding bands seized upon in Ferelden. Nobles, members of the nation's Bannorn, and speculative merchants have bought up every riding and pack animal in the surrounding nations."<p>

Today the final meeting of the Free Marcher Wardens was taking place in the library in a rather public fashion. The Elven Grey Warden, Fiona, seemed to lord over this particular section of Weisshaupt's great collection of tomes and scrolls. Stroud paced the length of a floor rug as she informed them of yet more bad news.

"And this means we get no answer as to our petition for additional horses for our return to Nevarra?"

"Actually, due to the recent shortage we'll be taking half of the animals you've brought with you."

Bethany cringed at the audible grinding of Stroud's teeth.

"Half?", the young mage asked incredulously.

"It has been determined, via careful inventory, that half the animals are property of the Order of the Grey. The rest were picked up in your travels or brought with you from your individual recruitment. Thus we have no claim on them and therefore you are quite free to depart back to your temporary post with them in tow."

"Great, more walking. Going to need new shoes."

Stroud cast a stern glance at his recruit and Bethany quickly clammed up.

It wasn't the same being at this meeting without Alistair there to whisper random bits of humor or hushed, overly-exaggerated impersonations of their superiors but then again nothing had been the same since that night she read Gamlen's letter. Her Uncle, between drunken sentiments and angry rambling, had shared the grim fate that befallen her Mother. He seemed especially bitter that her Brother was unable to save Mother in time.

She pushed the thoughts away and left the meeting early without asking for leave or even excusing herself. Stroud didn't say a word and Bethany didn't bother focusing on Fiona's inquiry as to her departure. Instinctively she had wandered over to Alistair's quarters but stopped short of knocking. He had denied her request for company. Despite the rumors and resentment shown to her by her fellow Grey Wardens, from time to time she'd be propositioned. She always declined. Many of them had assumed it was either loyalty or some kind of awe for her friend Alistair that she refused them.

He was the only one she ever offered herself and he had refused her. She felt terrible putting him in such a position, how she now avoided him to not have to relive that night and its indignities and pains.

She slunk back to her own quarters and in the darkness, she fought back the urge to cry. Bethany willed herself free of her emotions. Her emotions were simply a weakness she cannot afford now that her party had been charged with an important investigation of the same Deep Roads that had put her on this path in the service of the Grey Wardens.

Much like her cousin, she'd relinquish her ties to her old life. Yes, she would let go of her past, any fading notions of her girlish fantasies and simply serve a higher cause.


	8. Fiddle And The Drum

The Sun had begun slipping below Kirkwall's battle-pocked, city walls while a trio of Grey Wardens did their best to stave off a mixture of boredom and discomfort as they stood near the entrance of The Blooming Rose.

"Honestly, I did not figure Stroud for the kind of man to - uhh", Alistair's mind locked up for a second as he tried to find the right words to communicate, delicately, his surprise and disgust.

"To patronize a whorehouse?", Bethany finished her companion's thought as she stood, arms crossed, against one of the support pillars holding the bordello's structure aloft. "I used to live here remember. Not that I ever, ahh, used the whorehouses' services."

"Brothel, would be the better word I'd use", Alistair said and offered the young Mage a crooked smile, to which she looked away from upon seeing.

"Sooo - Raleigh, have you ever been to Kirkwall, other than... today that is?" Bethany asked the short Elven man whom was eyeing one of the working girls who paced this darkened little corner of Hightown.

"I've not left Nevarra until Stroud saved me from my, mmm, 'early retirement', heh. No, joining up with the Order is first time I've ever gotten past the necropolis."

The waifish streetwalker finally met eyes with the leering Elf then scrunched her features at him before sidling up to a helmeted city guard. Dejected, Raleigh slunk over to Bethany, puffed out his chest, and put out his best pick-up vibe.

"And what about you, my little enchantress, you ever left The Marches? I'm sure any Templar would've tripped over their own greaves to personally escort you back to The Circle."

Bethany grimaced at the Rogue's implication, "Uhh... no, not - well, yes I have been outside of the Free Marches. We were... I was born in Ferelden, actually."

"Hmm, so not keen on the muscly armored fellows, huh? What about her over there, fancy that?", Raleigh pointed with his chin at the prostitute whom was most likely whispering naughty offers into the helmet of the stationed guard.

"No, no. Please don't mix me up in your personal - very personal fantasies, thank you."

Alistair stepped forward, "Yes, watch how you spea-".

"He can speak to me as freely as he pleases, Senior Warden", the Mage admonished while defiantly turning to face Alistair.

"I-I can?" the Elf questioned.

"Shut up, Raleigh!" the two arguing humans yelled in unison.

Shot down again, the Elf leaned back against the stone wall and slid down into a dice-thrower's crouch. If he couldn't amuse himself with the fairer sex he'd have to practice his other favorite habit. With a flick of his rather thick wrist three six-sided cubes appeared in his scarred palm. He performed for himself a few fancy dice manipulations making the Halla horn-carved gambling implements dance across his knuckles and pop into the air.

With the heated argument and its growing volume beside him, he felt almost at home there in the open as he faux-plied one of his old trades. His days as a low -to-mid level crony in the employee of one of Nevarra's many but nameless shadowy enterprises had him perform duties as anything from bagman to saboteur to even the occasional retirement "provider". He was nowhere near the levels of the Orlesian Bards or Antivan Crows in the skills of spying or assassinations but he could get the job done if subtlety wasn't necessary.

Raleigh snatched his dice from the ground as Bethany took a step back as she made to draw her stave. It was an empty threat but, from his time in the company of the two Fereldans, the Elf found that the lady Mage knew such a response would cow the older Warden. Whatever had transpired between them had driven a wedge into their relationship, and it entertained the Nevarran to no end to play with the duo's emotions with crude insinuation and untoward behavior. He meant no harm by it, mostly it was a way to relieve boredom between self important Grey Warden business.

With an exaggerated yawn, Raleigh stretched his arms out and let his hand catch the hem of his fellow Warden's lightly armored robe. He playfully lifted it and made as if he was going to peer up at the woman's smallclothes, when a bloodcurdling scream made the lascivious Elf cringe.

"What is - I don't sense it", Bethany cried out while tugging her uniform free.

"Its not 'Spawn, but it doesn't look friendly either", the ex-Templar quipped while drawing his weapons.

The rookie Warden slipped his dice back up his sleeve and slipped free a simple, fire blackened cudgel from his belt. He figured if it wasn't Darkspawn it wasn't worth pulling his shortsword. He let his eyes slip into the direction his companions faced and spied an unusual sight: a horned musclebound creature towered over a felled City Guard and the now cowering prostitute. A corona of blue flame surrounded its hulking form, in his old life he'd have quietly made for one of the many neutral safehouses that dotted Nevarra, but in his current life every so often the Grey Wardens would flex their combat prowess in certain situations to keep up their reputation as a possible recruitment tool.

"I think its a - uhhh - one of those Tall Bosh'tets, maybe?"

Bethany didn't take her eyes off the creature as it menaced the still screaming woman, "Why are you asking me, Alistair? I don't even know what language that even IS."

Raleigh rolled his eyes, "He means Tal-Vashoth. Kossith that have left the Qun. Mercs, basically."

Alistair and Bethany tore their eyes off the scene for a moment to stare at the Elf, who could feel their unsettling uniform gaze upon his person.

"What? I can know things. Now are we going to do something about this or are we going to stand around gawking?" 


	9. Keeping The Blade

With every step made towards Sundermount the sounds of battle and anguished cries continued to fade into the background. Alistair resisted his natural inclination to try to save the innocent citizenry and refugees caught in the path of the enraged Qunari. Unfortunately the Order's neutrality even extended towards the horned peoples and their growing local followers of the Qun and thus even in the face of losing their leader, Stroud, during their initial skirmish, they could only fight for their own safety and not avenge the loss.

"He's dead, he's really dead. I can't believe that mustachioed bastard is gone", Raleigh muttered to himself as he stabbed at the embers of the large fire the trio stood around. Having witnessed first hand the death of a Grey Warden, any childhood or tavern fantasy of the nigh invincible Blight-fighters was now sundered for the disheveled stocky Elf.

Alistair's face twisted up, "Have some respect! Stroud was... he was, I suppose, a good man. He's our leader and deserves to be called better than a - a bastard. So... yeah."

Raleigh shrugged in response and continued to jostle the haphazardly assembled funerary pyre.

"And I can't believe he was just getting a drink", Bethany blurted as she snatched the stick from the Elf's gore-coated hand. "I mean, sure my Uncle Gamlen would SAY he was just getting a drink when we'd catch him inside the Rose but Stroud was just there to drink."

"And now he's dead", Raleigh interjected.

Bethany swatted at him with the the stick to which the rogue didn't bother dodging. The blackened tip left a sharp black score mark across his cheek. Raleigh didn't flinch from the strike, but Alistair did. He'd received similar corrective treatment during his early years before he was put into full metal in Templar training.

"Besides why are we burning his body to begin with? In Nevarra we plop 'em in the ground or lock 'em away in some dusty tomb if they were worth a damn. But maybe since he was Orlesian and you all are Fereldans this is some kinda, I dunno, ceremonial revenge?"

That was it for Alistair. He shucked the shield off his arm and dropped his blade, before storming over towards the inconsiderate Elf.

"Listen here you - you. ERGH! Can't you show one iota of respect for the dead? We were here on business for Weisshaupt and now we no longer have our LEADER! And I've had enough of your disingenuous asser-"

"Alistair!"

"WHAT IS IT - MAGE?"

The Senior Warden drew out the final word of his question as if it could quiet or halt the misdirected anger they carried. Bethany's eyes widened at the response she received for just a brief moment before narrowing them into a dead stare.

"I'm - yes, Bethany?" Alistair attempted to recover but his companion's features remained unchanged.

"We do have a leader, and its you. You can stand around moping about Stroud's demise but do not insinuate we are without leadership. You are our Leader, whether you're acting like it or not, that is how it is and right now you need to be thinking about what we are going to do with the map Stroud procured from his contact at the Blooming Rose", she replied coolly.

The rogue took the opportunity to slip away from the humans and their emotional see-sawing. For once he was honestly curious about the burning of Stroud's remains, well the bodily remains, as his kit was quickly divvied up between the three of them for the march back to wherever Alistair decided. He watched on as the taller man paced back and forth before the flames, the blonde's head ticked from side to side, seeming to be weighing Bethany's statement.

Bethany, on the other-hand, stood near their de facto leader her face impassive. He'd seen that exact look earlier when they had run across her brother during a dockside skirmish. The Elder Hawke mentioned the loss of their Mother, but it didn't even faze the girl. Of the bits of the Mage's life he was familiar with it seemed life handed her an empty sack, filled it with lemons, then beat her with it. He didn't pity her, no no, if he learned one thing in his stays in the gaol it was to always do your own time and to Raleigh the Order was just another sentence to be served.

"Amaranthine!" Alistair's declaration broke the quiet.

"What?", Bethany absently asked.

"We'll head to Vigil's Keep and request aid from Am- the Warden Commander."

"Ferelden, really?"

"Its just a hop, skiff, and a jump from Kirkwall. Much closer than the graveyard we're stationed. And so much closer than the Anderfels."

Alistair cast a slightly hopeful look at the Elf's direction. Raleigh shrugged, "I can't swim but you're certainly not lookin' at me to volunteer to be your canoe or anything, so... why not, right?"

"But what about the other Wardens back at our-", the dark-haired Mage paused her train of thought, her features scrunched a bit as she mulled things over. "Sod it. Amaranthine holds no memories good or bad for me. And I guess it makes sense we should go to where - our kind of support is closest."

Alistair retrieved his shield and sword from the ground and unceremoniously strapped them onto his back, "Its settled then, back to Kirkwall, then - Ferelden." 


End file.
